


We Are Inside Out

by rowofstars



Series: Queen and Country [2]
Category: Cobra (TV 2019), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, British Politics, F/M, Flashbacks, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 00:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: A conflict leads to something more, in the past and the present.





	We Are Inside Out

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing, but they have taken over my life. Send help. I'm putting all these in a series since there is no real plot to speak of, just some stuff. And some pointless smut.

_About 1 year ago..._

"Do you want this job?" 

It was an unexpectedly simple question, and Belle blinked, watching as Sutherland leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a large man, but there was something about his presence that loomed larger than the physical space he occupied. She’d been here for two weeks, and as much as she’d tried to be careful, it was inevitable that she would fuck up.

Her brow furrowed. “Yes, of course, I -”

He started to laugh, and she stopped. The sound was almost cruel, as if she were a child who had exasperated him with her antics. Her hands pulled at her skirt, bunching the tweed fabric.

He shook his head and huffed. “Then fucking act like it!”

He sighed and sat forward, hands folded over the blotter on his desk. “I cannot have a fiasco like we had this morning, do you understand? I’m the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and I looked like a fucking idiot showing up for a meeting that was already over!” His lips pulled back, baring his teeth as he sucked in a breath. “This isn’t secondary school, Miss French. I didn’t fuck off seventh period with my mates, I missed a video conference with the _President of France!_ ”

She stayed quiet until he finished shaking his head again and then pushing away from the desk.

“I’m sorry.” She shrugged when he looked at her. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. I made a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

“You’re fucking right it won’t.” His mouth set in a hard line. “Or you’ll be seeking new employment, outside this government.”

Her lips twitched and she looked down in her lap, smoothing her palms over the rough nubs of gray woven between the finer black threads. “You don’t like me.”

Sutherland frowned and sat back. “What was that?”

“You don’t like me. Here. In this job.” She looked up and met his gaze, folding her hands over her knee.

His eyes narrowed, studying her, almost irked by her calm response to his outburst, and then pushed to his feet. “Why do you say that?”

Belle sighed and let her body relax against the curved leather behind her. “Marshall said you wanted someone else, someone with more _experience._ She said she had to all but force you into hiring someone who was under the age of 50. You thought my CV was too slim, that I’d be too nice, that every square jaw with a trust fund that walked into this office - which seems to be about every ten minutes in this country - would get through your door just because I’m single and of childbearing age.”

“No, that’s not -” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Anna would say it with her special brand of tact that was not unlike a cricket bat to the face. “Look, experience matters. It’s -”

“Is that because of your wife?”

His mouth hung open, eyes widening at her words. She was still, studying him, her head tilting slightly. A sensation rippled down his spine and he curled his hand into a fist. She was the earliest one everyday, almost compulsively. He knew because he’d watched her. She didn’t do it to impress, she did it because it was what it took to get the job done, and up until this morning she’d done it very capably. 

After a rocky start, he finally felt settled in his administration, like he had his feet under him. Belle was part of the machine now, part of what kept him going on a daily basis. He depended on her, and that was why he’d felt so let down by her mistake, understandable as it was. A garbled message on a bad international connection, a typo in an email; small conspiracies combining to fuck up his day, and hers. It still scared the hell out of him, something he'd never say, that she still could sit here in front of him, and not look away, not be cowed by his authority.

He laughed again, but this time it was softer, realer. “You’re right. And no, it’s not anything to do with my wife. Rachel’s...she...” He sighed. “It’s not about her. At all.”

Belle gave him a small smile. “It’s alright, I get it. I’d underestimate me too.” He met her eyes, mouth curving crookedly, and she made herself look away for a second. “But you have to respect me if we’re going to work together.”

Sutherland leaned on the edge of his desk and nodded, his body sagging with the weight of the day. “I do. And I’m sorry.”

She exhaled and then stood up, stepping closer and touching her hand to the desk. “It’s give and take, right?” 

He shifted and swallowed, staring down at the gap between their fingers. It was something he’d said to his staff on his first day, a way to try to make it about the whole. Duty first, Queen and country; position was secondary to that, to all of them. It was why they were here.

“You're going to take something from me,” she continued, “and I'm going to take something from you, and this job. That’s how it works.”

“Right,” he managed, throat strangely dry. She’d be lucky if she left this job with only minor scarring. They all would be. “I’m afraid that’ll be quite unbalanced, Miss French.”

She caught his gaze and smiled. “Life isn’t even.”

Sutherland nodded, and she moved back, crossing to the door as his cell phone rang out. She looked back before she left, but he’d already turned away. The ringing stopped as he glanced at his phone, the screen bright as he read it over.

_1 Missed Call: Rachel Sutherland_

 

 

* * *

 

The door shut and Sutherland thumped his fist against the table.

Marshall was right and the whole thing was a fucking mess. He was going to stick to his guns though, hold out until there was no other choice. It was a matter of pride, however foolish, but he couldn’t show weakness, not at this tenuous time. The party and his administration needed to be a united front, even if the press ripped him a new arsehole, which of course they would.

“So,” Belle started, tapping some papers into alignment before setting them on top of her legal pad. “We negotiate with terrorists now?”

He looked up and scowled. “Excuse me?”

She shook her head and folded her arms. There was a nagging pain in her head that had not improved during the meeting, and she had hours of notes to type up on top of the three reports he wanted to her precis for tomorrow. “Marshall’s wrong. The Opposition -”

“The _Opposition..._ ” he snapped, stepping up until they were toe to toe, using his authority to loom over her, “is for _me_ to worry about. I’m the fucking Prime Minister. It’s not you or Anna or anyone else they’ll try to crucify for caving on your party.”

Eyes narrowing, she held up her hands in front of her, nearly touching the lapels of his suit jacket. “It’s a valid concession, and it doesn’t weaken anything about your position. You’re being stubborn, and you -”

His lips pulled back in a sneer as he pressed forward. He wasn’t here by chance, in this building and this office. There was a trail of blood and sweat and tears behind him, most of it not even his.

“You forget your place, Miss French!”

Belle stumbled back a step, colliding with the wall. Sutherland was almost pressed against her, so close she could feel the heat of his body and smell the warm, earthy scent of his cologne. Her eyelids fluttered and she swallowed hard, annoyed not only at his attitude, but at how nothing had resolved from their moment in the conference room weeks ago. Everything had gone back to normal, and he hadn’t said or done anything since their awkward conversation. He’d put her off every attempt she’d made to bring it up again, and now a mild irk had bubbled up into a simmering anger.

She tipped her face up, meeting his eyes as her lips came dangerously close to his. “Where is my place exactly, Mr. Prime Minister? At my desk outside your office? Or on my knees sucking your cock?”

Sutherland’s eyes darkened as his body reacted to her words. “Would you like that?”

She leaned back against the wood paneling, licking her lips slowly and smirking at the way his eyes followed every movement. “Almost as much as you would.”

He sucked in a breath and then braced a hand on the wall, bringing his body into contact with hers. He should have left, should have pushed away from the situation and not played into her game, but the catch in her breath and the light puffs of air from her pink, parted lips drew him in. She let out a small noise, and he dipped his head, brushing his nose along hers, hovering his mouth just out of reach of her lips until she pushed back. 

“Is that what you want?” he asked, tipped his head back slightly when she tried to pushed up and catch his mouth. Then he shocked her by sliding a hand behind her, lifting her leg and the pleated skirt of her dress, and pressing himself against her. He was hard and hot already, and she made a needy, desperate sound and pitched her hips to grind against the stiffening ridge of his cock. “Or is it this?”

“Fuck -” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it came out strained and needy.

His head tilted, avoiding kissing her to drag his mouth down her throat, warm and wet, tongue and lips barely brushing her skin as he breathed, the late afternoon scruff on his chin scraping deliciously and making her hiss. He didn’t dare do what he wanted, suck and bite and leave marks from her jaw to her collar bone. 

A hand found its way under her dress to run along the elastic of her panties, and she moaned as two long fingers pushed their way inside. She was obscenely aroused already, just from a little verbal sparring, and a part of her hated herself for it. Now that he knew he could work her up so easily he’d be incorrigible, and probably a complete bastard about everything.

“Here?” she managed to ask, as her head lolled to the side, baring more of her neck to his teasing.

He brought his mouth up to her ear, briefly nibbling the lobe before he whispered, “Would you prefer being on your knees?”

Her hands came up to his shoulders, nails digging in as she rubbed herself against his hand. “Fuck you.”

Sutherland pulled back a bit and licked his lips, sliding his fingers out of her. Her disappointed sigh spurred him on, and he raised them to his mouth to suck her flavor off them. With his free hand he pulled at his belt and zipper. The clinking sound drew her attention, distracting her long enough for him to reach behind her with both hands and lift her off her feet. Pinned between his body and the wall, she let out a squeak of surprise, her thighs tensing around his waist.

He smirked. “Is that an official request?”

Her heels dug into his lower back and she could feel her left shoe slip off, landing on the floor with a muted thud. He managed to work a hand between them, and after a few fumbled movements, tugged her knickers to the side and buried his cock inside her. She glanced towards the door and wondered how long they’d have until someone noticed they hadn’t come out. The fear was quickly dispelled by the sharp movement of his hips, setting a deep and deliberate rhythm that had them both at the edge quicker than she thought possible. Her fingers wrapped around a handful of his dress shirt as her back arched off the wall, pushing painfully, blissfully, into him as he moved. 

She gasped and swore in his ear. He shushed her and pressed a kissed to the side of her neck that was entirely too soft and gentle for the way the rest of him was pounding into her. The edge of the paneling bit into her shoulders and she could already feel a few bruises forming as her cunt started to pulse and throb. He grunted sharply and jerked his hips, and she felt a hot, wet rush between her legs. His hips kept rocking into hers as he breathed through his orgasm, shifting and rubbing, and she turned her face, pressing the side of her fist against her mouth to muffle the ragged moan as she came. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, with his breath warm and moist on her neck and her hand stroking his hair. He straightened slowly, waiting for her to stretch her legs to the floor and keeping his hold on her waist until he was sure she was steady. The skirt of her dress fell clumsily over her thighs, and she reached up and under, shifting her knickers back into place and trapping the sticky mix of their fluids. 

She looked up and found familiar eyes, warm whiskey brown, and a look she couldn’t quite name. It felt like there was something shining in the corner, but then he sighed and turned away, and whatever she thought she might have seen was gone. When he turned back, suit smoothed back into place and trousers zipped up, he flashed her a tight smile. It’s not the one she hoped for, the one where the left side of his mouth curved just a little more than the right. She shouldn’t have needed that slightly crooked grin, those dark, laughing eyes, or the long, hard feel of him inside her so badly.

Belle exhaled and moved away, righting her fallen shoe with her toe and wiggling it back on. A few moments later and they were both straightened, almost like it never even happened, though the ache in her legs and the lingering flush to her skin said otherwise.

“You’re right,” she said, finally, turning away from him to collect her notepad and papers. When she turned around again, he was watching her with a strange expression. “They will blame you. You’re the PM, and it all falls on you, rightly or not. But wouldn’t you rather be blamed at least having done _something?_ ”

Sutherland pressed his lips together and then sighed. He could still taste Belle’s flavor on his tongue and smell her on his clothes. His back was going to be killing him later too, but she was right, the same as Anna. He was being stubborn because he thought he had a point to prove, because he always had to be the one in control.

Belle started towards the door, stopping halfway along the table where he was still standing. “But it’s not _my place_ to say so.”

“Belle -”

The door was closing by the time he got her name out and he sat back against the edge of the table as his eyes came to rest on the wall. There was a scrape along the chair rail where they’d been, small, unlikely to be noticed and if it was without much regard. His jaw tensed and he looked away.

Back in his office, on the left corner of his desk, there were divorce papers to be signed.


End file.
